


Just a chest infection

by OtterMcKilbourne (p_3a)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:38:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_3a/pseuds/OtterMcKilbourne





	Just a chest infection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuckoftheDreads (Mezduin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mezduin/gifts).



Prince Wrathion had dropped by as a courtesy, but something told him that things were much more serious than initial reports had suggested.

That thing was that Varian Wrynn had invited him through to the royal infirmary almost immediately.

Normally, when Anduin was sick, Varian would stall on allowing any visitors into the inner halls of the keep. He'd make all manner of excuses, threats, delays, and redirections to try and stop anybody who wasn't staff - including Wrathion - from seeing his son. Wrathion usually managed to twist and weave his way through the King's words in order to weasel permission for a visit, but somehow, none of that had been necessary this time.

Varian had even said, "Good, you're here." And lead him straight through.

While they walked through the echoing halls of Stormwind's keep, Wrathion briefly speculated that perhaps this was because he was being  _blamed_  somehow. Varian wanted to point to the state of his son, say "you did this", and have Wrathion swept away into the dungeons for summary execution. Or perhaps he was to demand Wrathion's help; although Wrathion didn't specifically have  _medics_ , he did have some of Azeroth's best toxicologists and herbalists, and numerous other specialists who Varian could be planning to make demands of. And although Wrathion had every intention to help if asked, he didn't like the implication that Varian viewed him as a resource to be pumped; his kingdom of Blacktalons a simple annex to Stormwind.

His thoughts were dispelled when Varian spoke.  
"I didn't know if you'd come," he said, turning a corner in the corridor.  
"Of course I would. I have done every time so far, haven't I?" Wrathion's tone was a little curt; he was more than finished with Varian assuming the worst about his thoughts for Anduin.  
Varian grunted, and shrugged. "It's good you did."

Wrathion didn't like Varian's quiet, passive tone. It didn't suit him. So he fell quiet as they climbed the last few flights of stairs to the inner infirmary.

He didn't know what to expect. He'd seen Anduin here many times - sometimes with a broken bone, sometimes with fatigue, sometimes with a cold. None of that prepared him for what he saw when Varian gently pushed the door open.

He was on the bed, entirely prone, with some... tube, it seemed, coming from his throat. There were stacks of medical pans and packaged syringes by his bedside, along with what looked like half a cabinet of potions and other medication; as Wrathion's eyes travelled further in that direction he realised that the tube was attached to some manner of Draenei contraption, which appeared to be pumping something. It took a few moments longer to realise that it was breathing  _for_  him.

It was... really that bad.

He became aware, dimly, of Varian's hand on his shoulder; and that it moved to grip his upper arm, keeping him off the floor when his legs gave out under him. He ducked his head and took a deep breath, reaching numbly for Varian to pull himself upright again; Varian wasn't saying anything that Wrathion could hear, but he doubted he'd understand it if he was. Instead, he simply helped Wrathion to one of the two comfortable chairs at the other end of the room, and let him recover.

It was really this bad. He wasn't breathing on his own. There were... so  _many_  potions.

"It's just a chest infection," Varian finally said, sounding far away. "That's what they told me."  
"Just," Wrathion repeated, faintly.  
"Ha. Yes.  _Just_  a chest infection."

They were quiet for a little while. Wrathion's head was pounding, but he didn't say anything.

"He gets ill every year," Varian continued. "Always when it starts snowing. He starts pushing himself too hard and ends up catching cold or flu. But never like this."

Wrathion didn't respond. He watched the rhythmic rise-and-fall of the shaftless pistons in the machinery, closely resembling the lifts in so many Draenei settlements; he watched the rhythmic rise-and-fall of Anduin's chest under the lightweight sheets. He felt his own heart in his ears, far too fast and rough in comparison.

"I didn't want anything to happen without giving you the chance to be here," said the King, quietly.  
Wrathion turned to look at him, slowly. "You..?"  
"I don't like you," Varian stated. "But my son does, and I respect him enough not to argue. He would want you here."

Wrathion looked at Anduin's face. His eyelids were flickering, as though he was dreaming; his mouth was slack around the intubation. "Do you think he can hear us?" he said, without thinking; then cringed at how inelegant, how stereotypical his wording was. Then he bit his lip. His boyfriend, the one and only who had ever truly understood him, might be dying. He was allowed to word things a little clumsily.  
"I don't know. But I like to think so." Varian sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You can say something to him."

Wrathion nodded. He breathed deeply, watching Anduin's chest again. The pace set by the machine was slow and steady; Wrathion, consciously, tried to match it. He'd been breathing either far too quickly, or hardly at all, since he first saw him lying there.

After a few moments, he felt together enough to stand up. So he did. He was a little unsteady, and Varian leaned forwards, ready to catch him again if he fell; but he didn't. He crossed the room.

Anduin even  _smelt_  of sickness. Wrathion missed the vanilla, the faint scent of the rain; now, he smelt of antiseptic, and healing potion, and a myriad of other chemicals Wrathion couldn't pick out. He breathed out slowly and pushed away tears as he reached for Anduin's hand. It was warm to the touch; a worrying development, considering the one touching it was a dragon.

Anduin's fingers twitched. Wrathion bit his lip harder.

Tenderly, he slipped his gloved fingertips under Anduin's palm; and very gently, so much so that Wrathion thought he could easily have been imagining it, Anduin's fingers curled to hold them.

They stayed there for a long while. Wrathion didn't know exactly how long, and Varian didn't interrupt them. But eventually, he started to feel his legs getting sore; so he squeezed Anduin's hand a little tighter, then let go, and returned to the chair.

It was a good thing he chose to do so when he did, as a few moments later a medic poked her head around the door; Varian stood up, and motioned for Wrathion to do the same. "They're going to drain his lungs," he said plainly. "I watched once. I wouldn't recommend it."

Wrathion nodded, feeling somewhat less numb than he had a little while ago, and followed the King out of the room.

-

He stayed in Stormwind for two weeks. Varian had a guest room set up for him; which was the strangest part, considering he usually insisted on having Wrathion accommodated  _outside_ the Keep. Wrathion didn't complain. He had some of his things brought and some of his more important Blacktalons stationed in a spare office further to the edge of the keep, and although he made some semblance of continuing to work on his plans, most of his time was spent visiting Anduin.

To his pleasant surprise, Anduin improved. He was taken off the ventilator; he was smiling, when Wrathion walked in the first time after it had happened. And although the windows in the infirmary were small, it felt as though the bright sunlight of dawn was streaming through them all.

Varian wasn't there, and Anduin waved the medics by the side of his bed away, so Wrathion approached him.

"You held my hand," Anduin said quietly. His voice was soft and weak; but he was speaking. He hadn't been able to speak for far too long.  
"Would you like to do so again?" Wrathion asked, finally allowing himself to smile back.  
"Please."

And so they did.


End file.
